The Naming of Cats
by Estoma
Summary: "You changed your mind then." For Irma, on her birthday.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: Happy birthday, Irma. Here is the first chapter of your birthday fic. You always say you want canon, so what is more canon than Everlark?**

**Set after Mockingjay but before the epilogue, using the prompt 'create' from, the nova challenge at Caesar's Palace. **

A light breeze meandered gently through the district, stirring the sweaty tendrils of hair from the foreheads of those unlucky enough to be working in the heat. It sailed lazily over the old mineshaft, the faded warning signs, and over what was once the Seam. Many of the houses were destroyed in the bombings seventeen years ago. After the ash was shovelled away, it was planted with grass and allowed to become part of the meadow. Now, houses spread out from the new Town centre-good, solid houses, made of brick and timber, nothing like the rickety seam shacks, patched with plywood.

The colourful flags hanging in a row from the eaves of the new Mellark Bakery fluttered in the breeze. Red, yellow, orange, blue and green, they were bright and cheery. The door stood propped ajar with a half full sack of flour in an attempt to entice some cool air inside. Peeta had turned the shop over to his apprentice for now, for the morning baking was done.

Finally the breeze swept over what used to be the Victor's Village. The twelve large houses stood still, but others had sprung up to make use of the space. They were dwarfed by the original homes but were well made and well maintained with many of the features once considered a luxury, like a telephone. Around the houses was an orchard of apples trees. It had been created by the residents who returned in the first few years. Now the trees were mature and all of fruit bearing age.

As the breeze wafted past her, carrying the scents from the town; petrol, spice and warm concrete, Katniss straightened her back and wiped a muddy hand across her forehead. She left a smear of dirt and blew the hair from her face. It had escaped her usual braid again.

Around her were a dozen primrose bushes. They were the very same ones that Peeta had planted when they first returned after the Rebellion. He had created Katniss' first garden and it still flourished. They were well established and grew at least to her waist, though, in the heat, their petals looked a little washed out. Kneeling on a mat, Katniss reached forward methodically to pull the twitch grass from around the roots, fingers digging into the soil to find the little bulbs and prevent the grass from growing back.

The door of the house stood wide open in hopes of catching a breeze, and the interior looked cool and dim. From somewhere inside, Katniss heard the distant ring of the phone and the irregular tread of Peeta's prosthetic leg as he hurried to answer it.

When the ringing stopped, Katniss imagined Peeta's calloused hands on the receiver and the way his lips would curve up and his eyes crinkle in a genuine smile. He'd tuck the phone between his ear and shoulder so his hands would be free to continue their task. Peeta was always busy.

As Katniss got up to dump her bucket of wilted weeds on Peeta's compost bin, she heard his steps on the wide veranda. He had an old, wooden tray balanced in his hands, with two cups of orange juice.

"Come and have a break?" he called.

"Alright." Katniss took off her gloves and tucked them in the pocket of her worn gardening shorts, hurrying up the two steps to the veranda. Taking a cold glass, she pressed it to her cheeks, and her forehead. The shade was welcome too and she sat down on the wooden bench with a contented sigh.

"I'll get you some ice, if you like," Peeta offered.

"No, thanks, this is nice." She took a sip and smiled, "You left the pulp, how I like it."

"Always," Peeta grinned. "Want to guess who was on the phone?"

"Was it Annie?" She called often, particularly around anniversaries, and there were many; the day Finnick was reaped, the day he won, his victory tour, his death.

"No, Johanna," Peeta said with a smile, "her oldest, Tari's, fifteen and they're doing a big party for her."

"How did she get so old?" Katniss marvelled.

"It goes so fast. Anyway, she wants us to come to District 2 for the party, since we're godparents."

"Doesn't sound like Johanna, to have a big do!" Katniss snorted.

"She says you need to inject some sanity. Fallon's sister has planned a big thing, as if the first ones weren't enough, and she says Fallon's insisting that no young men come. The poor things are probably all scared of him, though, they wouldn't have been alive for his games."

"Sounds about right. Her birthday's the end of August?"

"25th. It'll be cooling down in District 2 by then. It'll make a nice change from here."

"That sounds good, I'll call her and tell her we'll come. Though, I bet she'll be a nightmare!" Katniss groaned, but smiled at the same time. She shook her head and took a long sip of her orange juice, no longer a once a year luxury.

They both leaned back on the wooden bench, enjoying the cool drink and looking across the garden and the orchard that surrounded most of the Victor's Village. Tiny apples, still green, were beginning to form.

"I can't believe Johanna could have a daughter that's fifteen," Peeta mused.

"They did start young!" Katniss laughed.

Peeta sighed wistfully, circling the rim of his glass with a finger. He didn't look up at Katniss. "By now, we could have as many kids-"

"Peeta!" Katniss sat her glass down on the wooden planks with a clunk.

"Sorry, it's just on my mind, that's all."

"You know I'm not….I can't…yet." Katniss tucked away a loose strand of hair as she always did when she was uncomfortable. She stood up. "I still need to water and mulch."

Peeta's brow furrowed with sad understanding and she did not meet his gaze. "Do you want any help?"

"No, thanks," she said tightly, taking both steps at once and ignoring the jar to her ankle.

"Okay," Peeta sighed. He put their glasses back on the tray and stood. "Oh, and Katniss? That stray kitten's still hanging around. And it's looking thinner."

Katniss' shoulder tensed and she sighed under her breath. "I don't want to take care of it. I'm not cut out for it."

"You took care of me," he said tenderly.

"That's different." She shoved her fingers back into the gloves ad turned her back. "Ignore it, and it'll go away and find someone who _can_ take care of it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Prompt, 'parched', from the Silver Challenge at Caesar's Palace. **

The heatwave refused to break for nine days. As the temperature climbed towards 100 degrees, work ground to a halt in the factory producing medicinal supplies. All work across the district that was not essential was put aside for cooler times.

Peeta shut the bakery early each afternoon, for sweat beaded on his forehead even as he stood at the counter to take money. Often, the coins were sweaty from damp palms. He left the house early, just around 2am, to ensure all the baking was done long before the sun rose, but even the nights were hot and muggy and the ovens felt like furnaces.

It was even too hot to hunt. Katniss contented herself with watering the primroses in the early morning and late evening. Even so, the petals grew limp by mid morning and the leaves threatened to drop. Haymitch's geese rarely left their shrinking pond and the bulrushes around its edge were dry and stiff. The geese had the best time of it, staying in the water until the fiery sunset.

With sweat beading on his forehead from the short walk from the bakery, Peeta was glad to be finished for the day. He paused at the gate to undo the latch, using the hem of his shirt for the metal was too hot to touch. He ran his eye over the parched grass and the wilted roses. Looking over at Haymitch's yard, the geese were indistinct, white blurs for the water reflected the sunlight cruelly. He shaded his eyes and smiled tiredly.

"Nice for some," he muttered.

Nudging the gate shut with his toe, Peeta started up the path, and he could feel the heat rising off the tones. Dust took to the air with each footstep and hung there. When the heat dropped, he'd sweep the path and the veranda, but there was no point now, when the dust hung in the air all day. The grass looked scruffy, with patches of dry dirt among the burnt brown, but come spring, it would perk up again. That was one reason Peeta loved the garden; it kept him in touch with the seasons, and they were something real and sure.

At the two steps to the veranda, Peeta paused. A small sound caught his attention and he furrowed his brow as he listened. Then, crouching down on his haunches, Peeta peered under the veranda. It was difficult, and he had to support himself with a hand on the step for even after eighteen years, his leg was cumbersome.

Laying in the dirt next to one of the supports, was a little scrap of fur and bone. The kitten panted shallowly and let out another mewling cry. He knelt down, wincing at the heat that rose from the stones and seared his knee. But, Peeta was used to burns. Carefully, he lowered himself onto his stomach and crawled forwards, ignoring the hot stone. His bad leg dragged awkwardly.

It was barely cooler under the veranda, and dust rose up in clouds. Peeta coughed. Supporting himself on one elbow, he reached forward and brushed the kitten's fur. It was hot to touch; the black colour had absorbed the heat and made conditions worse for the little creature.

Clumsily, he closed his fingers around the scruff of its neck and pulled it closer to him as he shuffled from under the boards. It was too weak to struggle but panted rapidly, with glazed green eyes.

"Let's get you inside," he murmured, holding the kitten in just one hand. It weighed nothing.

Mercifully, it was cooler inside. It took a moment for Peeta's eyes to adjust to the dimness before he could make out the familiar hallway. Katniss' leather hunting jacket hung on a peg by the door.

"Katniss!" he called.

"In the kitchen."

Standing at the sink, she didn't turn around immediately for she was intent on filling an ice tray with water.

"Johanna called," she announced peevishly. "They got snow on the mountains last night! I always wondered why Johanna moved to Fallon's home district, when he would have gone with her to District 7. But maybe they've got the right idea!"

"Katniss," Peeta interrupted her tirade. "Please, can you get a bowl of cold water?"

"What for-" she began, turning around, and trying to keep the tray level. When she sighed, she dropped her shoulders and the tray tilted to drip water down her wrist. Her face fell. "Peeta, you didn't!"

"Katniss, the little thing's so weak, I couldn't leave it."

"It might just die, Peeta."

"Come on, give it a chance," he said, then softer, "you didn't give up on me."

"You're not a stupid kitten!" she said crossly, but she did fill a metal bowl with water and place it on the table before she shook her head and walked out with a stiff back.

Peeta took a checked tea towel from the drawer and spread it awkwardly, with one hand, on the kitchen table. He laid the kitten down on its side and it did not stir. He thought its panting had grown more shallow, and its eyes were closed.

Carefully, he dipped his fingers in the water and let it drip over the little creature's muzzle. It beaded in its whiskers. Repeating the action, Peeta dampened the fur around its mouth and ears. He'd read somewhere cats lost heat through the thin flesh of their ears. When a tiny, pink tongue slipped out to lick the water around its lips, Peeta was encouraged and kept it up.

For half an hour, he fed the kitten tiny drops of water from his fingers, and gradually its panting lessened. He put the back of his hand to the soft, black fur of its flank and thought it had cooled somewhat. The kitchen was dim and shady with the light, lace curtains drawn.

He looked up at Katniss' heavy tread on the floorboards in the hall. She only ever made much noise when she was angry. In a good mood, her steps were light and nearly soundless.

She stood in the doorway and tugged her braid angrily. "You might think about dipping its paws in water, just for a little bit," she said. "Cats loose heat from their paws because they can't sweat. And don't let it drink too much either."

"Thanks, Katniss," Peeta smiled softly.

She made a noise something like a Buttercup used to, when he was ousted from Prim's bed of a morning. "Well, I'm going out to the market. You'll need some raw mince for it later."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: I hope you enjoy the conclusion to your birthday fic, Irma. Prompt, 'progress' from the Panem Challenge at Caesar's Palace.**

**Also, thank you to the guest reviewer.**

On the tenth day of the heatwave, it finally relinquished its hold over District 12. In the course of one afternoon the temperature plummeted thirty degrees and a brisk wind sprung up. It whisked the dust and dead leaves that had fallen from the heat, and made little eddies that raced around the town. They coated the houses and the windows with a thin film of dust, and the faces of the people who ventured out without a hat. But none minded; it was almost as good as the first rain in autumn.

In the street, peoples' faces lost their focused scowl and opened up again, even if they did have to squint against the gritty wind. Peeta closed the door of the bakery against the wind but made sure the 'open' sign showed clearly. Outside, the flags flapped and danced merrily.

At noon, he handed the shop over to his apprentice, a boy who had lost much to the bombing and had needed the lucky break. Hardworking, quiet and serious, he reminded Peeta of Katniss, even if his blue eyes marked him as being from the merchant clan.

With brisk steps, Peeta hurried back to the Victor's Village, stopping only briefly to nod to the geese, riding on the choppy water of their pond. The rushes swayed and dipped. While the primroses were buffeted, their leaves already stood up more strongly.

Squinting against the grit, Peeta opened the door and hurried to close it before more dust could make its way inside. A good deal had already, carried in on their clothes, skin and hair over the last week.

Peeta made his way quickly to the kitchen, where they'd been keeping the kitten in the cool alcove between the pantry and the bay window that was Katniss' favourite seat. He found it empty, but bent down to look just in case, feeling the rags with his hand.

A quick scope of the kitchen showed a hundred places a kitten could hide.

"Katniss!" he called, with a frantic note in his voice.

"In the lounge room!"

His steps were erratic as he made his way there. Katniss was settled on the couch, and with her back to him, he couldn't see what she was holding. "Have you seen the kitten?" he asked.

"Buttercup's right here," she said with a smile in her voice.

The little thing rested in her crook of her arm and a hearty purr reverberated around his body. Peeta might have heard it had he not been so anxious. A dish of finely minced meat, mixed with water to form a paste, rested on the glass top of the coffee table and Katniss dipped her fingers in it for the kitten to suck.

"Buttercup?" Peeta asked with eyebrows raised.

"I don't know any other cat names," Katniss shrugged, and continued in a serious voice. "He's big enough to have meat now. Anyway, the milk was upsetting his tummy; a lot of cats are lactose intolerant."

Peeta grinned and sat down on the couch next to her. Reaching out a hand, he rubbed his knuckles on Buttercup's forehead, making the skin wrinkle and the cat appear grumpy. He chuckled.

"You changed your mind then."

"Yes." She said it with utter seriousness, and fixed her eyes on Peeta's face.

"What made you-oh." He stopped, mouth open. All in a rush, he leaned forward and put his hands on her knees, looking up to meet her gaze. "You've changed your mind about-"

She interrupted, her voice serious once more, but her eyes held a mischievous sparkle to them, and her eyebrow arched.

"Yes."


End file.
